Wishing Weed
by Xyliette
Summary: Mark returns to L.A. post-crossover to try again. Mark/Addison.


**_~-~-~-~-~-~  
Wishing Weed  
- Jason Reeves  
~-~-~-~-~-~_**

It's not ideal, Mark discovers rather quickly, bouncing, jiving through his echoing apartment as his grandson wails in his arms. Sloan said she couldn't do it, that she was going home (and the echoing remembrance of a similar remark on his part is not lost), but Mark couldn't allow the unnamed child to be placed into some caseworkers thickening file. Not when he had two good hands, a steady career, and a home.

But the rest, not materialistic things, aren't coming easy for him. He loves the husk of corn silk hair, loves the baby's stark eyes that accuse him of many crimes, but he doesn't know how to show it. More specifically, he is failing at every task- feeding, washing, dressing, swaddling. About the only thing he is capable of is holding the infant, but something about his distinct cries imply he isn't doing that right either.

It's natural to seek her out when the world bursts into flames, and it's going to be okay to admit that she was right. He cannot raise this child alone, she was right and he needs help on an epic level.

He's willing to set aside his pride, his potential for embarrassment, for the squirming bundle in his arms. And that's how he knows it can't be anything other than love that propels him to California.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Mark's stomach rumbles with hunger as he knocks on her door hesitantly, baby safely nestled into the crook of his elbow. He's got a pale blue striped blanket wound through his fist, and when Addison pulls back the door her flushed cheeks and swollen lips advise him that he is definitely interrupting and intruding.

But when he hears Sam call her name, when he puts two and two together, he can't help but want to punch his old friend. But it's not the kind of example he should be setting, even if his grandson can't see clearly past his own fingers.

"Mark-"

"I," Mark swallows, and gestures to the baby absently, "I can't do it Addie, not alone. I...don't know what I'm doing. Callie tried, but I can't..."

"When was the last time you slept?" Addison asks, his hair pointing in all directions, black shirt rumpled.

"I don't know."

"Hey," Sam greets, whisking them all inside, plucking the newborn from Mark's arms when he starts to become aggravated.

Watching Sam with his baby, his woman, makes Mark scowl viciously. But he relents when Addison pulls him into a corner to heatedly discuss why in the world he did this, and what the hell he is doing here.

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know the answers anymore. "Addison," Mark groans, tugging on his graying hair.

"You can't just show up here with a baby Mark, a baby! And expect me to what? Swoon!"

"You love babies," Mark negotiates, trying to smile at Sam as he lets pale skin grasp at his fingers.

"How long are you planning on staying? The weekend? Until he starts college, because I kind of need to know."

"I'm here," Mark swallows. "I'm...asking. Do this with me Addie, please."

"You left me! Again-"

"Technically," Mark interrupts. "You're the one who leaves, that's your method."

"Shut up!" Addison screeches, facing Sam with a glare after he taps her shoulder.

"He-I," Sam stumbles, wishing he had his inhaler handy. "Did you bring diapers?" Sam asks, looking around the room for the exploding bag of crap that usually accompanies babies.

"Damn," Mark sighs. He knew he forgot a few things, luggage still secured in the driveway where the cab driver left it.

"You've got to be kidding me," Addison mumbles, taking the baby easily, trying not to be too obvious when she leans closer for the irresistible scent of his pink head.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

While she very much wants the cheap, inappropriate serenity that Sam provides, she can't turn away a baby. And she can rarely turn away Mark, at least not openly and discretely.

"It suits you," Mark commends, forking another piece of asparagus and sliding it into his mouth. She made him dinner, a very late dinner, and fed the baby who is now asleep against her as she rinses out her wine glass in the sink. He shouldn't be surprised, she was always good with children, it was him that was the problem.

He's always the problem, it seems.

"Just...don't," Addison warns, letting the cup rattle in the sink as she holds up a hand. She bounces a little, inadvertently, even though the infant is sound asleep and in no need of comforting. Years ago, months ago she would have killed for this exact scenario (the choice in men excluded). Now, it's screwing up everything. Which is exactly how her life seems to work post-Derek. Karma, she has deemed it.

"It's true," Mark argues, sipping his own drink, observing the way she wanders around the living room, knowing that she can set the baby down but simply won't. She's clinging, this is what he does to her, and it's not pretty. "We could do this Addie. I'm ready. I'm so ready now, and Sloan liked you. She went home, to her mother. This is our chance," Mark persuades.

"You're delusional, from lack of sleep," Addison notes, slipping onto the couch, carefully cradling "no name" in her arms, grinning when he squawks at the shift. She can't really discern any features distinctly Sloan or otherwise, but there is something comforting about his weight in her arms, the way his eyes seem to focus on hers even when it's just an illusion.

"I know I did this the wrong way, I know I left," Mark acknowledges. "And you have every right to be angry-"

"I was your rebound girl, Mark. There's nothing to be angry about, that's just the way it works," Addison attempts to dismiss.

"You're...you weren't- and I know...you're still pissed, you've been clenching your jaw ever since I got here."

"I have a surgery in six hours," Addison replies, choosing instead to ignore the fact that she is enraged that he arrived, and had the audacity to bring with him the treat he was dangling in front of her wickedly.

"Addison," Mark sighs, hanging his head in defeat.

"I'll help you, but I'm doing this for him...and it'd be better if you'd admit that you were too. This isn't about us."

"It is-"

"Goodnight Mark."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

When the clock says 4:27, Addison tosses another used bottle into the sink, hoping that it somehow shatters and wakes Mark who has slept pleasantly through both of the times baby Sloan decided something wasn't right. She kicks at the edge of the counter frustrated by his natural ability to sleep through something so heartbreaking. Her pulse quickens every time Baby yawns, her stomach feels like it is in her throat every time he wiggles in her embrace, and after the last time she gave up and just took him upstairs to her own bed, too afraid about rolling over him to even close her own eyes.

She doesn't know how anyone could sleep through this, why anyone would want to miss all of the magical midnight moments.

Addison kisses the top of his warm head, covered by a white hat that Sam brought home from his trip to the store for formula, diapers, and all of the rest of the things Mark forgot. "You need a name," she whispers to the baby, wracking her mind for something, even if only she only gets to see him twice a year for the rest of her life. "What's your name?"

Mark rises, tugs on the string of his sweats, one of the elastic bands cutting into his right calf. He runs a hand over his bare chest and yawns loudly, peering over the back of the couch to see Addison in the kitchen murmuring to the other person in the house. He clears the sleep from his eyes, allergies in full force as Addison's cat scampers through the rooms on a mission to figure out who has invaded his turf.

"'orry," Mark yawns again, barely awake, making good use of her couch even when she said he was welcome to take one of the guest rooms. "I didn't hear him."

"I know," Addison replies softly, emotions taking a backseat to the baby who needs quiet. If she had enough clarity she could see how this could be beneficial for them, but she's not interested in entertaining the idea of a them right now.

"Im-ma change your mind Addison," Mark says weakly, knowing that any second she's going to deposit baby Sloan in his arms and take off to get ready for a surgery that probably isn't happening until late in the afternoon if it is actually happening at all. He has to talk when he can with her, and it's always the wrong timing, it's always improper, but that's all she'll lend. "This is the way it's supposed to be, I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

"I need-"

"Just go," Mark entices, already ready, already waiting for the adventure that lies ahead him for the day.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"It's just that I can't Mark, not right now. Not when things are so...I don't know which way is up anymore," Addison explains, toweling her hair dry as she marches back down the stairs to retrieve her coffee. The shower was refreshing, enlightening. It allowed for a game plan to be set in place. "I need...something else," Addison says, almost tripping over the banister. "I need to be where I can think, and that's not where I am right now...so...you can stay for a little while, but you have to leave eventually, okay?" She asks, not looking in on him as she races for the caffeine she left behind in a hurry earlier. "Mark?"

She finds them heaped together on her couch, blanket hanging off of Mark's knees, the baby against his bare chest. She rearranges the pillow under his head, and allows herself to smile for a moment. It's so ridiculous that he showed up, that he somehow manipulated someone into giving them their baby, that he grew up enough to want what the rest of the world starts hoping for in their 20s.

But he did show up, and it brings temporary peace to the shaking tumbler in Addison's soul as she climbs back upstairs to get dressed for the day.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Oh he's so cute, yes he is," Naomi coos, hearing the distinct click of Addison's heels down the hall approaching quickly. "Mark," Naomi says, switching focus, "be gentle with her, I mean it."

Mark's about to open his mouth, reveal something crass about being gentle unless she wants it rough, but Addison cuts them all short with her arrival, so he clears his throat instead and takes in her curves. He'd like to take her back to her office and shut the blinds, heal her the only way he knows how, but his inside voice tells him that it would be the worst possible choice. "I was hoping we could have lunch," Mark says, reaching out for her hand, a tight kiss landing on her cheek as he tries not to notice how she pulls away.

"I have patients," Addison declines, pushing back on her toes as he scoots closer. She knows that she can't control herself when he's near, so a little space couldn't hurt.

"Dinner then?" Mark asks, watching as Naomi drifts away with his baby.

"How did you get here?"

"I called a cab," Mark replies, studying her harsh face.

"You took him in a cab- Mark," Addison groans. There's no carseat, cabs are filthy, the least he could have done is called in advance. "I can't- You just...go home- my home, and I will see you there."

"I need a ride," Mark grins selfishly, pushing as far as he can get under her skin. It's for her own good.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Dinner turned into a quickly squished meal of warm Chinese at a hole in the wall. They sat crammed into one side of the booth, watching the baby sleep, elbows bumping repeatedly but no apologies on the horizon. Then Addison managed to shove an equally fast feeding and diaper change in between the noodles and the parking lot of the baby store that has him completely entranced by safety guidelines, colors, patterns, and variety.

Addison has the baby cuddled into her chest, one arm supporting him, the other perusing a rack of clothes so small Mark didn't think they could exist. The fact that the feet of Baby's outfit are hanging a few inches too low aren't something he took into account until now.

"The orange tags," Addison says softly, soothingly, pointing to the clothes, carefully examining a cashmere elbow patch sweater. "You can pick anything with an orange tag on the hanger for now." She figures actually reading may be too difficult at this point.

"Ok," Mark gulps, pulling off his dawdling feet and bravely reaching a hand into the smooth, buttery fabric. "What about this?" he asks, holding up a spotted outfit with a hat attached.

"Is it orange?" Addison asks without really looking at him, paying more attention to the infant beginning to wiggle against her.

"Yeah," he grunts, switching out the blue marker he had in his hand for the smaller version.

"Then get it."

"Are you-"

"Mark, I'd like to get out of here before midnight, and I'm thinking that the faster we go the easier this will be," Addison explains, the shrewd harshness of her voice beginning to pick up as baby Sloan opens his bright eyes and thumps a fist against her. "So if it's tiny and you like it, get it. I'm going to go see if I can find some more bottles."

"Addison!" Mark yells after her as she makes a getaway with his baby. He's never done this. He did buy that Yankee onesie but looking over the sea of dinosaurs, monkeys, the occasional skull and crossbones, and gentle giraffes, he gets the impression that it was way too big for any child to be wearing after they were born. Hastily he sighs, and grabs all of the orange labeled things he can (steering clear of anything that says "mommy" or "daddy") before speeding off after the direction she left in.

He finds her with a pile of crap on the shelf nearest her as she nudges a newly purchased pacifier into the baby's mouth muttering something about being good until they can get home. He can sense the sales people salivating in the background, which is par for the course when Addison goes out shopping.

"What else could we possibly need?" Mark asks, head starting to droop several paces later, the cart piled so high he can barely keep track of her sexy heels as they confidently stride forward, determined.

"Look, I can't do this alone," Addison seethes, spinning around. "I wish I could...but I need you here so shut up and be more useful than dragging your feet and whining. This is your child Mark, not mine."

"I liked the blue," Mark says stupidly, getting a raised eyebrow in response. "Back there, you couldn't pick between the blue and the white, I liked the blue better," he says referring to the yards of icy ocean colored crib sheets.

"I ordered a crib today, on my lunch," Addison replies with a raised voice, hinting at him to not interrupt and complain that she wouldn't eat with him. "I think the blue may match perfectly."

"We can stay?" Mark questions courageously, fingers dipping into his pocket.

"We'll see how it goes," she relents, cold exterior already melted away. Thing always did progress too quickly with Mark.

Forty minutes later, as one of the employees helps him load the car he finally gets to hear the laugh he flew down here for when the squeaky girl dares to tell Addison that Baby is going to have her smile. He just wishes it came without the additional guilt.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I didn't ask for this!" Addison explodes, face reddened, throat scratchy from every shouted syllable that proceeded this specific fight.

Mark doesn't know what they're fighting about this time, or the last time, but for the last few weeks the arguments aren't far enough apart. Alarmingly increasing, Mark decides to bite the bullet. "I'm trying to do what's best for him! That's you!" he yells back, pointing across the room to the recently awakened baby swinging gently.

And somewhere between her anger and his unintended flattery their mouths meet, tongues colliding into indistinguishable moans and lusty calls for more work and less talk.

It was only a matter of time anyway.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Next time you need sex," Mark says, out of breath from his workout, "you can just ask instead of waking up the entire neighborhood."

Addison shakes her head in disbelief but her mouth is set in a wide smile. No matter how many times she tries to deny it, to deny him, it does feel right. In her gut, in her heart, his wild, stupid, improbable plan is working. Sometimes, over coffee in her office she still wonders about Sam, about what the hell they are going to do when Mark gets bored, but she sets it aside, grabbing the paper and tells herself to deal with it when the time comes, if it ever does.

"He needs a name," Addison exhales, wiping the sweaty, lengthening hair off her forehead and snuggling into his chest instead of pushing back into her own space like she usually does.

"Caleb," Mark replies, surprising himself. Sure, they've thumbed through a hundred books together, in ranging moods, but nothing really ever stuck with him.

"Caleb Sloan," Addison says, testing it out in the salty air, wind sweeping in from the breezy ocean and her open bedroom doors.

"Riley," Mark corrects. His daughter did something incredible, she gave him something no one ever has, and it should be honored, even if she never gets/wants to hear of it. When Addison climbs over his lap, straddling him, he tells himself he must have done something right.

The explosion of cries in the other room brings him back to reality seconds later and for the first time since he arrived he tells Addison to stay, to relax, that he can handle this one.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Mark!" Addison calls up the stairs, the droplets of water from the shower suddenly flipping off. "Hurry!"

"What?" Mark asks nervously, tripping down the stairs, a towel tied around his waist, one drying off his head as he races.

"Look," Addison says cheerfully, plucking the monogrammed white square off his eyes.

"Show her how it's done Caleb," Mark encourages, drawing the baby's attention from his sturdy knees and hands as he crawls. Addison rolls her eyes and Mark cuts in before her rant. "You didn't come home until two this morning, we had time to practice," he informs her.

"Mrs. Lan-"

"I know," Mark smiles, drawing her into his wet flesh, bumping hips as Caleb scoots over the rug headed straight for a wall outlet that Addison had professionally proofed when Caleb was only seven weeks old. "It was our little surprise."

"You're ridiculous." Addison laughs, tucking her fingers under his towel and resting on his shoulder as they watch in awe.

"Technically, Helen got the first viewing, but it's still kind of amazing."

"Yeah," Addison agrees, feeling a surge of self-reproach come crashing down at the mention of the nanny she never wanted to hire, but in the end had to because of their hectic work schedules and necessity of not having Caleb grow up in her office.

It's still not ideal, it's not perfect. Caleb doesn't have Mark's eyes and he lacks Addison's nose. And from time to time Mark wishes he could give her a daughter when he catches her mooning over chocolate silk dresses in the back of stores instead of the "educational" toy he's holding in the air for her approval, or that he could give her a ring without causing an emotional breakdown that may get him kicked out. But as the only measure of success he can possibly count (he always puts shoes on the wrong feet, Caleb hates when he does bath time, and Addison still sobs so deeply that he fears he can never fix it) he loves them both enough to recognize the limitations of their situation, and how to live within the narrow bubble Addison provides without applying too much pressure to the tenuous arrangement.

And in the way he least expected, playing poker with Sam on Saturday nights, commuting through the haze halfway across town to work for a competing hospital, and giving Sloan's voicemail an update every Tuesday morning at 10:15 though she never indicates any interest in the rare moments she actually calls him back, it all seems to work out for the best.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**


End file.
